


The Imperial Pastime

by NoisyNoiverns



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Brotherhood, Brotherly Bonding, Childhood, Sports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 04:13:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9054862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoisyNoiverns/pseuds/NoisyNoiverns
Summary: Desolas didn't ask to be an older brother, and having to raise Saren himself doesn't make it any better. He's busy all the time, his only help is their grandmother on another planet, they have to move around on the Empire's whims, and Saren isn't exactly a normal turian child. But still, Desolas is all Saren has. They might as well have something they can do together.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [canonkiller](https://archiveofourown.org/users/canonkiller/gifts).



> christmas present for IceOfWaterflock!! merry ~~starscream~~ shitscram nerd

“Saren.”

Saren ignored Desolas. He’d come home in a good mood, and if there were anything pressing, Desolas would have addressed it straightaway, so it could wait until a commercial break.

_“Saren.”_

Annoyed subvocals set Saren’s cowl trembling. Okay, so Desolas wanted an answer. “Go away,” he complained, waving a hand in the general direction of where his brother’s voice had come from.

_Click._

The vidscreen went off, and Saren’s mandibles went down. “Hey!” he protested, twisting in his seat. “I was watching that!”

Desolas folded his arms under his keel, broadcasting displeased subvocals. “And now you’re not,” he growled. “What have I said about not answering me, Saren?”

“I was going to during the break!”

“If I wanted to talk to you during the break, I would have waited.” Desolas shook his head, then turned and motioned for Saren to follow, head swiveled so he could see Saren out of the corner of one eye. “Come on, get your stuff on. We’re going to the park.”

Saren blinked, then flared his nasal plates. “I don’t want to.”

“Saren…” Desolas’s eyes scrunched closed, his brow plates lowering, and Saren felt a brief pang of guilt. Grandmother had told him many times before not to push his brother, he was doing his best without their parents around. Then Desolas sighed and opened his eyes again. “Tell you what, you go with me to the park, we’ll do what I want to do, and when we’re done, I’ll buy you a treat at the store, alright?”

Saren hesitated, eyeing him. “Do you promise?”

Desolas raised a hand like he was taking an oath. “Promise.”

“Do you _promise_ you promise?”

One of Desolas’s mandibles quirked skyward. “Oh, come on, Tiny, when’s the last time I broke a promise to you?”

Saren snorted. “Last week you promised I could talk to Grandmother when she called.”

Desolas snorted back. “That doesn’t count, you fell asleep while I was talking to her.”

“You could’ve woken me up! I wanted to talk to her!”

Desolas waved a hand. “Alright, alright, point taken. I promise I promise you can have a treat when we’re done.”

Saren considered, then nodded sharply and hopped down from the couch. “Alright.”

 _“Thank_ you.” Desolas shook his head while Saren collected his hood and cloak. “Don’t bother with gloves or boots, you won’t want them.”

Saren eyed him, but shrugged and fastened his cloak. He’d take an excuse not to stifle his hands and feet in cloth any day, whether he understood why or not. Besides, most turians didn’t wear them to the park, anyway- Desolas just said they had to be careful, since they were albino and the sun hurt them more easily.

Since Desolas had taken custody of Saren after their parents died, the Hierarchy had given him special permission to stay with him off-base until either Saren started his service or Desolas finished his. Their apartment in Acalin wasn’t much, but it was, at the very least, just down the street from a small park with climbing equipment, all-purpose ball courts, and a bug-infested field for babies to practice hunting in. Saren’s main opinion of it was that he _might_ miss it when they inevitably moved again for Desolas’s next assignment, wherever that would be.

Out of habit, Saren started to head for the crawlspace under the climbing equipment, one of his favorite places to hide from the sun, but Desolas put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back. “Not today, Tiny. Come on.”

Saren flicked his mandibles and scrunched his brow plates down low, but followed his brother over to an empty court. “What are you doing?” he asked, folding his arms and watching as Desolas rooted around in the bin of public-use toys and balls.

Desolas didn’t respond, subvocals humming with a mix of curiosity and annoyance. Finally, he straightened up, clutching a worn ball in one hand. “Not the best I’ve ever seen, but it’ll do.” He tossed it to himself experimentally a couple times, then looked back at Saren. “You know how some weekends, I yell at sports on the vidscreen?”

Saren nodded, and Desolas continued, “That’s clawball. _This_ is a clawball.” He held it out for Saren’s inspection, and Saren drew closer, mandibles flicking in spite of himself. It smelled like hard leather, and had grooves carved into it from years of being pawed at by turian talons.

Saren frowned at the ball, then at Desolas. “What do you do with it?”

“Put it on a plate and serve it to Grandma as a delicacy from the homeworld. You _play_ with it, you idiot.”

“How?”

Desolas’s mandibles quirked skyward, and he took a couple steps back, tossing the ball to himself again. “Try to get it away from me and through that hoop.” He nodded towards a thin, vertical loop attached to the pole behind him. “You can only use your claws and your head.”

Saren blinked, then put his mandibles down and out. “That’s not fair, you’re bigger than me!”

“You’re a clever kid. Do you want fruit or flowers for your treat?”

Saren growled. “Threatening vegetables if I don’t play is cheating, too.”

Desolas snorted. “When Grandma warned me you were precocious, I figured she just meant you were good at math and knew an unreasonable amount of swear words.”

He blinked. “Which ones are the swear words?”

“Like I’d tell you. It’s funnier when you say it unknowingly in front of adults and get in trouble.”

“Desolas!”

Desolas just laughed, tossing the ball high. “Relax, Tiny, I’m just teasing. Now come on and play.”

Saren didn’t answer, focusing in on the ball. Desolas was strong, so when he threw balls, they went _far._ If he timed it right…

The second the ball stopped ascending, he acted. He lunged for Desolas, ignoring his startled yelp and scaling him in a matter of seconds. His toe-claws caught on the clasp of Desolas’s cloak and tore it a little, but that was an easy fix. His plates crackled uncomfortably as he tried to balance on the lip of his brother’s cowl, and he put a foot down on Desolas’s spinal plates on accident, jabbing himself right in the unprotected tissue at a joint. He clamped his mandibles to his face, bit back a yelp, and prayed he didn’t shock his brother.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to hope for long- the ball fell back within reach, and he batted wildly at it. His talons slid neatly into the worn grooves, like he’d carved them out himself. With a sharp shriek of surprise, he followed the motion through, arcing his arm back towards the hoop, and off the ball went.

He froze, mostly just surprised it worked, then pushed off Desolas’s cowl, flailing his arms for balance until he landed so hard his ankles almost hit the ground. Desolas grunted, and he looked over his shoulder to see his brother stumbling from the force of the shove against his cowl.

He couldn’t waste time. He faced ahead again and tore after the ball, practically leaping to take longer steps. Luckily, the ball was heavy enough that it couldn’t bounce very well, and the angle he’d thrown it at had sent it more down than forward, so he didn’t have far to run. He’d scooped the ball back up in only a few strides, and had to skid to a stop before he tripped on the edge of the court.

Heavy footsteps behind him told him Desolas had recovered and was chasing after. He stiffened, then shook his head and looked for the hoop, holding the ball to his chest. Ready, aim…

He threw the ball just as Desolas stumbled to a halt, almost tripping over him. Unfortunately for Desolas, being heavier and taller was not conducive to staying upright when knocked off-balance, so he went down anyway, and an errant arm brought Saren with him with a squawk, just in time to hear the distinctive _clang_ of a ball hitting metal and bouncing off.

Desolas at least had the decency to try to turn so Saren wouldn’t eat dirt, so he instead ended up slamming his head against his brother’s cowl. He lay there, dazed, for a while, only shifting when Desolas started to sit up. His brother groaned, reaching up to rub his head with one hand while the other stayed firmly clamped around Saren’s torso. _“Ugh…_ You okay, Tiny?”

Saren rubbed at his head, then shook it. “My head hurts.”

“Yeah, mine does, too. Sorry.” Desolas nudged Saren’s head with his own, mandibles brushing against his brow plates. “That was my fault. I’ll make it up to you, promise.”

Saren nodded faintly, casting a glance back across the court to see the ball slowly rolling to a stop. “I missed…”

Desolas followed his gaze, then squeezed his shoulders. “Hey, that’s alright. The hoop is the hardest part. You did really well, up until then.”

Saren shot him a skeptical look, and his mandibles flicked up. “No, really,” he insisted. “Climbing me to get the ball? That was clever, Saren. Really smart.” He pushed Saren off him, then got to his feet. “Here, I think you’ve earned that treat. Let’s put the ball away, then go to the store.”

Saren nodded and trailed after his brother as he went on, “Normally, you’d be playing with a team, to help you get the ball down the court. You’re not supposed to move while holding the ball, see, just to turn around and throw, kick, or head it to somebody else or through the hoop. Unless you’re playing one-on-one, obviously.”

Saren listened quietly as Desolas explained the rules. He still didn’t quite see why Desolas liked it so much, but he liked playing with his brother. Even when he got hurt doing it.

* * *

Saren pulled down his hood and shook out his neck, leaning forward in his seat. Beside him, Nihlus stretched out his arms in front of him, then yawned. “Okay, Saren, I’ll admit,” he was saying, “I never would’ve pegged you for a clawball person.”

Saren shrugged, watching the teams on the court warm up. “It was more of Desolas’s interest, really. Once he made general, he could afford to get us both tickets for every championship match. I humored him.”

Nihlus let out a little snort. “And that’s why you could tell me each player’s stats. From every iteration of both teams going back _ninety years.”_

Saren cleared his throat. “I may have… gotten more absorbed than I’d like to admit.”

Nihlus chuckled and elbowed him. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s interesting.” He settled back in his seat and propped up his feet on the one in front of him. “These are the best seats I’ve had for _anything,_ who’d you kill for them?”

Saren looked over at him briefly, one mandible raised, then back at the players. “Nobody. Every venue reserves a number of tickets for high-level celebrities for each event. The councilor reserves tickets for himself and his daughter each championship. This year, he neither roots for nor wishes failure on either of these teams, so I asked if I could take them.”

“And he just… gave them to you?”

Saren twitched a mandible. “I may have had to promise I’d babysit his grandchildren.”

Nihlus snorted. “That sounds more like him.”

Saren smiled, then straightened up as the players made for their respective sidelines. “Hush, they’re starting.”

Nihlus fidgeted for a moment, then leaned over and murmured, “So, this was your and Desolas’s thing?”

Saren rumbled a vaguely annoyed subvocal. “Yes, Nihlus.”

“And now, rather than let the tradition die with Desolas… you’re sharing it with me.”

He suppressed a sigh and nodded. “Yes, Nihlus.”

Nihlus went quiet. As the announcer introduced the first team, a shoulder brushed against Saren’s, and his cowl hummed with Nihlus’s subvocals, broadcasting a simple message laced with appreciation, understanding, honor, and an emotion Saren didn’t want to name. _Thank you._


End file.
